Forgotten Raindrops
by pulpbomb
Summary: Lestrade is injured in the line of duty while Sherlock is "dead." He wakes up with amnesia and doesn't remember his romantic relationship with Sherlock at all. Sherlock returns to a lover who doesn't remember him the way he needs him to. Eventual Sherstrade. (I'm making the amnesia stuff up as I go along to suit the story, needs must)
1. Chapter 1

_**Remember **__by Christina Rossetti_

_Remember me when I am gone away,_

_ Gone far away into the silent land;_

_ When you can no more hold me by the hand,_

_Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay._

_Remember me when no more day by day_

_ You tell me of our future that you planned:_

_ Only remember me, you understand_

_It will be late to counsel then or pray._

_Yet if you should forget me for a while_

_ And afterwards remember, do not grieve:_

_ For if the darkness and corruption leave_

_ A vestige of the thoughts once I had,_

_Better by far your should forget and smile _

_ Then that you should remember and be sad._

Lestrade opens his eyes and his vision is blurry. His body aches and won't respond to his commands, such as 'sit up', or 'raise hand to face'. He hears a beeping sound but can't find the energy to turn his head to seek it out. He closes his eyes again.

The next time he opens them, there is a nurse standing over him. He's in hospital, he's told. He's been in a coma for a month and the staff is happy to see him awake. The tube that was in his throat is removed as is the neck brace that had been keeping him immobile. Turns out coma patients move sometimes and the medical staff take to protecting the sensitive bits. It's all far more complicated than that, but that is all Lestrade understands.

He speaks with his doctor and finds out he was shot on a routine domestic call. The fact that he's a policeman comes as a bit of a surprise but the doctor says some amnesia was to be expected and that his memory should recover in time.

They tell him how lucky is that the bullet was a low calibre shot from a distance otherwise he'd have died on impact instead of losing some memories. They tell him they put him in an induced coma to keep the swelling down in his brain. That his while his immediate memories will never return his long term memories should.

When Greg expressed his frustration at not being able to remember such details of his life as his occupation, the doctors' tell him it's to be expected and that most of his memories will return including those of his life's work. They tell him to take it easy as he just woke up the day before and some patients take up to a week to recover their memories after a coma caused by head trauma such as his. This fails to make Greg feel any better.

Two days after he wakes up from his coma he gets a visitor. A man, younger than him, with sandy blond hair and a rumpled air about him, is sitting in a chair next to bed when he wakes up in the morning.

"Greg, hey there. I'm John Watson, a friend of yours. I'm a doctor, we've known each other for around three years." The man, John, says, after Greg stared at him in confusion for a few moments after waking.

"Ok, hi." Greg hits the button to raise his bed to a seated position.

"I understand you've lost some of your memory." John began.

"Who gave you the right?" Greg blustered. "I thought that stuff was private!"

John raised his hands in a defensive, placating gesture. "Your doctors here told me, I'm listed as your personal physician, they weren't betraying your confidence." John smiled earnestly. "I can show you all the proper paperwork if it will make you feel better."

"Oh, um, sorry. This no-memory-thing is a right pain in the arse. When I first woke up, I had to be told I was a policeman, I couldn't remember anything. A lot has come back to me since I woke up but there's so much I still don't know, like it's just out of reach but up here." Greg said, tapping his index finger against his temple.

"I understand. I'm so sorry you're going through this. I'm sure it's very frustrating but you're still so lucky to be alive." John reached out and patted Greg's knee where it lay on the hospital bed under the blankets, before sitting back and crossing his legs.

John continued, "Greg, if there's anything I can do to help, beyond being your physician, I'll do it. You can ask me about whatever you like and if I know the answer, I'll tell you, or point you towards someone who knows. How's that sound?"

Greg smiled at the younger man. "That sounds great, thank you so much John. Um. Can I ask how we know each other? You said you're my friend as well as my doctor?"

John nodded. "That's right, although I'm usually more a friend than a doctor. I don't give you your physical exams but I've treated you for bumps, bruises, stabbings and the like since I've known you."

Greg looked at him askance, "Stabbings, huh? That explains the scar on my midsection."

John huffed a small laugh, "Not my finest work that, what with Sherlock hovering me over like a mama bird. 'Watch your stitches, John!'"

Greg smiled. "Oh you know Sherlock, too? How is he? Has he be harassing the other detectives while I'm laid up in hospital?"

Greg watched as the smile fell off John's face and his slate blue eyes took on a serious aspect.

"He was my flatmate… Oh Greg, I'm so sorry. Sherlock… He died. Two years back. Suicide." John ran a hand over his face, his entire body radiating weariness.

Greg felt sick to his stomach. "Oh God no. Not Sherlock! Suicide?! How?! Was it an accidental overdose?"

John looked up sharply. "No!"

Greg recoiled at the vehemence in the other man's voice.

John's face softened. "Sorry, but no. He was clean. He'd been clean for years when he died. He said you saw to that. Er, maybe this should wait until you're feeling a bit better. Regained some of your memories. I don't want to upset you further."

Greg shook his head. "John, I don't know what you could say that would upset me more than Sherlock killing himself."

John gave him a sad smile. "You'd be surprised."

He coughed and cleared his throat. "Um, Sherlock — well, he jumped off a building after being exposed as a fraud."

Greg stared at the other man, disbelief writ large across his features. "A fraud?! No way. He was the real deal. 100%. No way he could fake all that."

John's eyes welled with tears and Greg felt his own moisten. "He'd be so happy to hear you say that, Greg. I know he would. Your faith in him meant a lot."

"I always believed in him. Always." Greg stated emphatically. Suddenly his eyelids felt very heavy. Sherlock, dead? He was beyond exhausted. John noticed and stood up, gathering his coat.

"Listen Greg, get some sleep. Doctor's orders. I'll be back to visit you in a day or two. I have to work tomorrow, but I can swing by after my shift if you like."

Greg looked up at the other man as he reclined his bed into a horizontal position. "Whenever you can, John. Don't go to any trouble."

John smiled fondly. "Well, you certainly sound like your old self. I'll see you soon. Get some rest."

John went to the door and clicked off the overhead light. Once the room was dark, Greg let the tears overflow onto his pillow.

"Oh Sherlock, my lad. I'm so sorry."

He fell into a restless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

After leaving Lestrade's room, John texted Mycroft Holmes after conferring with Greg's doctors.

**We need to talk about Lestrade. JW**

**Agreed. I'll meet you at your flat. MH**

When John arrived home, there was a large black car in front of his building.

He entered the building and saw Mycroft waiting outside his flat. "You didn't break in? How terribly kind of you." John muttered without any real heat.

"I always left the breaking and entering to Sherlock. He did so love to pick a lock." Mycroft said, a sad smile twitching across his face. He followed John into his flat.

"Tea?" John asked, after shucking off his coat, heading into his small kitchen and filling the kettle.

"If it's not too much trouble." Mycroft replied, sitting on the small sofa in John's spartan flat.

"It'll be a minute." John said, coming in and taking a seat in his armchair by the sofa.

Mycroft inclined his head. "How is the good inspector? Has his memory returned?"

John shifted in his seat. "I'd ask how you know that, but I know it'd be a waste of breath. He's regained some memories. I spoke with his team of physicians and they tell me, he's lost most of the last three years of his life."

Mycroft showed little response to this, but years of dealing with Holmeses allowed John to see how this news dismayed him.

"So he remembers none of…?" Mycroft trailed off, another sign of his distress.

"Oh, his relationship with Sherlock? No. Nor anything of Sherlock's death. I had to tell him about that. He didn't take it well. I have no idea how to go about telling him he and Sherlock were involved when he died." John heard the kettle click off and rose to go prepare the tea.

Mycroft sat on the sofa in thought while John bustled about the kitchen.

When John returned with the tea tray, Mycroft waited until he served the tea and sat down before speaking.

"John, you are not going to like what I have to say." Mycroft began boldly.

John snorted, "When has that ever stopped you? Go ahead. Say your piece."

Mycroft sipped his tea before placing the mug on the end table beside him.

"We cannot tell Detective Inspector Lestrade of the nature of his relationship with my brother."

The doctor's mouth fell open. "What? We have to! It's cruel to keep it from him."

"Is it though? You said yourself he did not react well to the news of my brother's passing. Is not perhaps crueler to tell him that not only did my brother kill himself but that he was Sherlock's lover when it happened? He will already mourn Sherlock, surely we can save him the pain of losing a lover he cannot properly remember." Mycroft sat back placidly, awaiting an eruption from John.

John surprised Mycroft not kicking him out but by sitting and considering the other man's words.

"I don't know, Mycroft. The doctors' say he should regain his memories at some point, how will he react to the knowledge that we lied to him about Sherlock?" John met the other's gaze head on.

"It's an untenable situation to be sure, John, but I think for now it's best to let the man heal and mourn Sherlock as a friend. When his memories return we will deal with the fallout. Hopefully he will recognize our intentions were good." Mycroft finished his tea and made to stand.

John rose as well. "I suppose so. God, what a mess. Poor Greg. I'll never understand why Sherlock jumped. Greg said today he never doubted him, could never doubt him and he was speaking of the man he knew before they… grew closer. How could Sherlock leave him? Leave us?"

Mycroft inhaled sharply but said nothing.

John shook his head. "Sorry. It's just all a bit much right now, what with the anniversary approaching. Sorry. I won't tell Greg he and Sherlock were lovers. But when he regains his memories and wants to punch someone, I'm sending him to you." The doctor held open the door to his flat for Mycroft.

"And I will let him punch me. I surely deserve that much for my role in everything. Good day John." With that, Mycroft left and John was alone with his thoughts.

'What a fucking mess. Damnit Sherlock. I wish you were here to help Greg get through this.'

Greg was dozing in his bed when Sally Donovan came to visit him. She brought a large bouquet and placed them by the window where there would get sunlight.

"Sally! Good to see you!" Greg was happy to see a familiar face.

"Hey Boss, you look a lot better. You remember me obviously. That's great!" Sally smiled and sat in the chair by the bed.

"Good observation, we'll make a detective inspector out of you yet. Or wait, are you already? My memory of the last few years is shot to shit, I'm afraid." Greg quirked a rueful grin at the younger woman.

She shook her head. "Nah, I'm still a sergeant but Gregson, the chief, is letting me cover your cases while you recover. So here's hoping I don't blow all my chances."

"That's great, Sally. I'm sure you'll do great. I'm sorry I can't help with the transfer of cases but, I'm still swiss cheesed like I said." Greg shifted in bed as he spoke to Sally.

"Boss, you are taking this whole amnesia thing remarkably well. Did you lose some of your stubborn personality when you got shot?" Sally shot him a look to make sure he recognized her teasing.

Greg smiled. "Har har. Very funny. Well John. You must know John Watson? My doctor? He was here yesterday and he and the doctors' here have explained the memory loss is most likely temporary. I may never remember how I was injured or the days leading up to it but I should get the rest back with time."

A shadow flickered over Sally's face. "Watson, right. He's your doctor, I didn't realize that. I guess it makes sense considering everything."

Greg looked confused but didn't say anything. Sally's phone pinged and she took it out to view her incoming text message.

**It's John Watson. Do NOT talk to Greg about Sherlock. Please, Sally. Call me when you get a chance.**

She frowned at her phone and Greg took notice.

"Everything alright there?" He asked, nodding at her mobile.

"Huh?" Sally's head snapped up. "Yeah, just work. Gotta run. I'll be by tomorrow to say hello. When are you getting sprung?" She stood up and shoved her mobile in her jacket pocket.

"No idea. They want to observe me some more. Run more tests. Please do come visit. It's boring as hell in here." Greg shifted his bed down and pulled the blankets up around his torso.

"Will do boss. I'll bring you a book. You still like mysteries? PD James?" Sally asked as she walked towards the door.

"I do. Good luck Sally. Thanks for visiting." Greg closed his eyes as exhaustion swept over him.

Sally closed the door quietly behind her and stalked out of the hospital. Once on the pavement she whipped out her mobile and called John Watson.

"What the hell are you playing at? What's the meaning of your text? I don't like lying to Lestrade and I don't see why I should."

She stood quietly listening as John explained the reasoning for keeping certain details from Greg. Sally didn't like it, but she understood where the doctor was coming from. She felt uncomfortable talking to Sherlock's best friend and hadn't been certain the reception she was going to get from his lover when she went to visit her boss. It took him a long time to forgive her for arresting Sherlock after he refused to do so. He understood her reasonings but it didn't make it any easier to forgive.

She sighed. "Alright, alright. I get it. I won't say anything. Listen, John, while I have you on the line I want to apolog—." The line went dead as Watson hung up. Not that she blamed him.

She could only hope Lestrade would gain his memories back soon so they wouldn't have to continue deceiving him. 'What a fucking mess.'


End file.
